


Reasons to live

by Angstosaur



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Accidental overdose, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Dark, Depression, Drug Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Unintentional overdose, angst with hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstosaur/pseuds/Angstosaur
Summary: Please read all the tags first. Trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts and depression.This starts as a study into the frame of mind of a man who thinks he has nothing left to live for, that his life is empty and no longer has meaning. He no longer wants to live. The first part is very much in an immersive style of writing and as such could be upsetting - if you think this will affect you negatively, please do NOT read... I'll post something fluffy another day.As the TV show suggests at the end of Season 5, John returns to England to look after Helwater, which has been inherited by William following the death of Lord Dunsany. However, he finds himself alone - William has not settled for the life of a country gentleman and has gone to visit the Frasers. All alone, a dark mood descends on John, one that he finds himself unable to shake off.What he is unaware of is that the letter he wrote to Jamie would be viewed and acted on as a cry for help.It is then up to Jamie and Claire to reach out to John in return and to reassure him that he has a place with them and that he is far from unloved.This fic fills my Outlander 2020 Bingo square: Dark fic
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Claire Fraser & John Grey, John Grey & William Ransom, past John Grey / Claire Fraser, potential Jamie Fraser/ John Grey, potential Jamie Fraser/Claire Fraser/John Grey
Comments: 34
Kudos: 98
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	Reasons to live

**Author's Note:**

> Please read all the tags first.

** Reasons to live **

**Lyrics from The Mission’s ‘Carved in Sand’ album (1990)**

**From ‘Belief’:**

_Behold a silent ocean in a precious grain of sand  
And if I have to explain then you'll never understand  
My petals are strewn scattered by the breeze  
It's whispered in the wind echoes through the trees  
Love’s a disease and it rips me apart  
Come heal my ravaged heart_

_@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@_

_What the hell did he need to live for?_

_Nothing._

_Nothing dammit._

William knew who Jamie really was to him. He had finally acknowledged him as his father.

His role as guardian was over. He had only ever been a poor substitute for a true father.

He had barely known his own before he had died the day after his twelfth birthday.

Holding the battered pocket watch in the palm of his hand, he watched the inexorable passage of time – minute by minute, slipping away from him.

Not witnessed by anyone. He was alone.

_William had Jamie._

_Jamie had Claire._

_Brianna had Roger – although he would have married her if Roger had let her down._

_Even that bastard of a brother, Hal, had Minnie._

_Isobel had given him her heart – dear, sweet Isobel – and he had barely shed a tear for her._

_Percy … he hoped his tarnished soul had found peace._

There was no place and no-one for him – anywhere.

He could no longer take refuge in the clubs he used to frequent in London. His memberships rescinded, one by one, after the events of the duel all those years ago. Reginald Twelvetrees had seen to that. Hal had told him he was better off out of the city. Better for others, maybe, but not for him.

His life had been punctuated by a series of exiles.

_To Aberdeen as a child._

_To Ardsmuir as a young man._

_To Jamaica as an adult._

_To Helwater to end his life._

Never formally declared as exiles, but each serving to remove him from ‘society’, until sins and scandals– both his and those of others - could be forgotten, even if never completely forgiven.

Despite Claire Fraser’s gracious contention that he, too, deserved that look of ‘satisfaction’, it always eluded him.

The only valid conclusion he could draw from that was that he did not deserve it.

If only he had been content with either Percy or Stephan. They would have been relatively safe choices.

_Percy Wainwright_

Sadly, Percy had burnt all the bridges that could have brought them back together, leaving a chasm that threatened to engulf one if not both of them. Having to arrest his stepbrother on charges of sodomy, when he had indulged in that practice with the very same man – well that rang the death knoll for any relationship that could have developed between them. To further plunge the whole debacle further into the realms of a Greek tragedy, his dear friend, Stephan, had felt compelled to end the life of Weber, with whom Percy had been cavorting on his bed. Stephan had known Weber since he was a boy. Another needless death in his wake. 

_Claire Fraser_

Marrying ‘that woman’, to spare her from Richardson’s vengeance had been an absurd idea. He knew in his heart that he had not done it for her, but for Jamie. What brought them together was mutual grief for a man they were both in love with. The bitter irony that the recipient of his noble gesture would then seek violent reprisal was not lost on him. To that day, the sight in one eye was never quite right and he suffered dreadful headaches as a result. But she had cared for him, despite her husband’s lingering animosity, saving him from blindness. He would always have a place in his heart for Claire Fraser.

_Jamie Fraser._

He had never been able to get that man out of his head or his heart. Despite the barriers that kept them apart – battlefields, oceans, mountain ranges – he always felt the pull of the man on his very soul. Others may have made an impression on his heart, but once he had fallen in love with Jamie, there was no other who could lay claim to it, to own it.

_Love’s a disease and it rips me apart…_  
  


_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

After so much foolishness, wanting so desperately to be accepted, to be part of a family that he could only ever be an outsider to, he found himself back in England.

The country was no longer his home. He was so very distant from everyone he had ever loved.

He was alone. Nominally in charge of Helwater, taking care of the estate so that William was free to return to the New World. William had been so happy to leave so that he could spend more time with his newfound father and family. His _true_ family.

John had no family.

Not anymore. After his mother’s passing, his family had turned its back to him.

It was his own fault. Hal had finally cut off all ties to him and told him that he was no longer welcome at the house in London. Not after his drunken rampage following the trial. He had destroyed every piece of furniture in his room and shattered every mirror, unable to stand seeing his own face. Tom Byrd had been frightened witless as he had rent every seam of his coats, tearing them to shreds. He had yelled at Tom, dismissing him – shouting that he had no need of a valet in hell.

He bore grudging gratitude to Hal for stepping in and finding Tom a post with a suitable young gentleman, a duke no less. Tom had always deserved better.

Yet again, he wondered what there was left for him to live for – missives from friends taken adrift by distance and by time?

_Would they even care if he were alive or dead?_

He felt so very alone. There was no one to comfort him. He could weep freely, knowing no one could witness his tears. Not even the servants, who kept their distance from him, sensing his sadness.

No one would miss him, he thought, as the melancholy wrapped its tendrils around his heart like an ivy vine strangling the life out a tree. He idly wondered who would mourn him – and who would let them know of his passing.

He had sent a package addressed to Jamie Fraser with William. He had included details of every single one of William’s holdings and land, along with the addresses of the relevant lawyers, and copies of the appropriate deeds and wills. He had left his own fortune to William as was proper – after all, he was still legally the boy’s guardian.

That did not leave much for him to bequeath.

He took the sapphire ring from the smallest finger of his left hand and briefly considered returning it to Hector’s family.

_What would be the point?_

Watching the candlelight reflect on the facets, he thought that maybe Brianna would like it. The sparkling blue would go so well with her eyes.

The pillow beneath his head offered little comfort, but it served to soak up the tears that slid down his cheek and rolled into the soft linen.

He had worded the accompanying letter carefully – or so he had believed. Couched in phrases such as ‘in the event that anything should befall me.’ But he frowned as he recalled the way in which he had signed off his letter.

No matter.

It would be too late.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_“I have been and always will be your friend. If you do hold me in your memories, please be so kind as to remember the good times, the games of chess, the gallops on the fells, good wine, whisky and laughter._

_Believe me yours, affectionately to the end, John.”_

“Claire?” asked Jamie, thrusting the letter at his wife, his hand shaking as he did so. “Do ye make the same of this as I do?”

Jamie frowned as he cast aside his reading glasses, pinching the skin between his eyes as if he could erase from memory the dreadful conclusion that he had drawn from his dear friend’s words.

Claire took a seat at the table next to Jamie and skimmed through the two sides of scrawling handwriting, scowling to herself as she got to the final page.

“Jesus H … he’s saying goodbye, isn’t he?” Raising a hand to her mouth, Claire felt her heart breaking. She turned the page over, examining it closely for anything she may have missed. “Is he ill? He does not mention that there is anything ailing him.”

Absently brushing back the wispy strands of hair that had escaped from the scarf she wore to keep it from her eyes, Claire wondered if there was any chance she could have treated John if he had not been so far away. Pragmatically, she knew there was no point pursuing those thoughts, if he had been seriously ill there was little chance that she would have got there in time to save him. But that did not prevent the feeling of loss that permeated her whole being. She felt as if she had lost something precious and irreplaceable, having only just realised how much she needed it in her life.

“William didna say anything about his papa being unwell, did he?” asked Jamie.

When Jamie had last seen his friend, he had been well and in good spirits. He had given him a portrait of William as a farewell gift and they had toasted the lad with some of the more palatable whisky. Jamie could not bear to think that he had missed something, that John had been suffering from some terrible illness and had kept his condition a secret from them.

“No – he did not,” replied Claire, frowning as she recalled William’s joyful return to Fraser’s Ridge. “He just seemed so happy to be here. Surely he wouldn’t have been in such high spirits if he had known that John was unwell?”

“I’m worrit, Sassenach,” admitted Jamie, taking the letter back from Claire. Another glance only served to worsen the feeling of grief bubbling up inside him. “This reads to me like a man’s last will and testament.”

“The writing is not as neat as it usually is,” commented Claire, with a wistful look on her face. “His penmanship is usually quite beautiful-“

“What does that matter, lass?” asked Jamie, not understanding the point that his wife was trying to make.

“In the future, much will be made of handwriting analysis,” said Claire, screwing up her face as she scrutinised the scrawled signature in the closing of John’s letter. “Trust me, when I say it speaks to his state of mind when he wrote this.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

It had been almost two months since John had let William return to the Frasers with his blessings. He had waited until he had received notice that he had arrived safely. That had come in the form of a short letter from Jamie and Claire, in which they asked after his health – they had been concerned that he had seemed out of sorts when he had written to them.

Sighing to himself, John recalled having been in a particularly maudlin mood when he had written the accompanying letter he had sent with William. Although it touched his heart to read their polite enquiries, it occurred to him that even if they had ascertained the dark mood that had him wrapped in its grips, they would be not be able to swerve him from the course he had charted for himself.

In the intervening months, John had interviewed and employed managers for the estates at both Helwater and Ellesmere. He wanted to make sure that William had the choice to either live on the income or sell up one or both properties. John was aware of William’s feeling of unworthiness when it came to inheriting Ransom’s estates, but he was the rightful heir of Helwater, the last living relative of Lord Dunsany. It occurred to him that perhaps he would choose to keep it on should he ever decide to return to England. He had fond memories of the stables after all and loved the horses, whereas John had been unable to step foot inside the buildings, not without finding unbidden tears streaming down his face. 

Since William had departed, he had acquired sufficient laudanum, having it prescribed for the headaches and insomnia that troubled him constantly. He just needed to test his tolerance for the drug. And should he misjudge the number of drops it would take – then so be it.

He had nothing to left to live for.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

From his room two floors above the main entrance, John was aware of an urgent knocking on the front door, and he stirred. He waited for one of the servants to answer – then recalled that most of them were at the local fair that evening and that there was only the butler remaining on duty. It was late at night.

Moving to the edge of his bed, he reached out to pluck the pocket watch from the nightstand. In the dim light of a single candle, he could see that it was almost midnight. No good ever came of callers who did not observe the protocols of acceptable visiting hours. It vaguely occurred to him that the intention of the late-night callers may be to arrest him and that amused him.

They were too late. He would never make it to any trial.

Turning over onto his front and burying his head under a blanket, John desperately hoped the knocking would stop and that whoever it was would just go away and leave him in peace. At least until the laudanum had the chance to dull his senses.

Reaching out to return the pocket watch to its safe place, he misjudged the distance and dropped it. His arm fell to the side and dangled free from the quilt, his fingers almost touching the timepiece that lay on the rug.

He just wanted to let everything go.

He was dimly aware that the knocking had abruptly stopped. That was something to be thankful for. 

However, any respite from the hammering on the door was short-lived and replaced by the sound of thundering footsteps on the stairs and then down the passageway outside his room.

John frowned, wondering if it was something that required his attention.

“John! John!”

A plaintive cry echoed around the gallery and repeated its call, as doors were opened and shut. He could have sworn there was a familiar timbre to the voice, an accent that touched his soul. A stirring in his chest, that could have been the quickening of his heart or just the shifting of an old embedded piece of shrapnel troubled him. He had dreamt of the possibilities of a long-lost love rushing in at the last minute to pull him away from the edge that his feet were so perilously close to.

He dismissed such fantasies and considered the other option – that it was someone come to murder him in his bed. That would be a blessed relief.

“John? Where are ye, man?” The voice sounded more familiar as it drew closer.

Although the door to his room was locked from the inside, it was not enough to keep out a determined man. With a loud crash, the door came flying inwards, splinters around the lock showering outwards as the door was flung open.

“Oh dear God!” Catching sight of an arm hanging from the side of the bed, Jamie feared the very worst. “John, mo charaid – what have ye done?”

John knew that voice, he would know it anywhere, but could not understand why it was there in his rooms. There was a sudden turmoil around him as lamps were lit and he could sense someone rushing to his side.

“Claire! Here, quickly!” Jamie urgently beckoned Claire to join him, not noticing that she was already clambering onto the bed on the other side of John’s body.

Blankets and quilts were pulled aside, and he could feel hands touching him, his face, his throat, his wrist, his hair – all seeking answers.

“John, I need you to open your eyes. Please?” pleaded the firm voice of Claire Fraser.

Delicate fingertips were attempting to pry open his eyelids. Blinking at the intrusion of the bright light that was being shone in his face, he could just make out a pair of golden-brown eyes staring at him. It had not occurred to him that Claire Fraser’s face would be the one he imagined as the opiate took control.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” Claire had momentarily lost her ability to objectively diagnose her patient. The pinprick pupils that sluggishly responded as she held her hand in front of the lamp indicated an overdose of some sort. “What have you taken? John? Why?”

Seeing Claire so distressed did nothing to calm Jamie’s fears, despite his relief at seeing John’s arm move when they had reached out to him. Looking around, he caught sight of the bottle on the nightstand, containing the distinctive reddish-brown tincture of opium. He grabbed hold of it and pushed it into Claire’s hand.

“Here, this must be what he’s taken!”

Reading the label on the bottle, Claire blanched. The empty brandy glass that had been next to the bottle confirmed her suspicions.

“We need to get him on his feet, before it’s too late. Come on, Jamie.” Claire prompted Jamie to take hold of one arm as she took the other. Between them, they were able to drag John out from under the blankets. “Quickly, before he completely loses consciousness. “

“Why – why are you here?” asked John, his voice slurring. He could not understand how the Frasers had managed to manifest themselves in his bedroom. He could not grasp why they were pulling him out of his bed. Perhaps he was hallucinating, and these were indeed men come to arrest him. That would not do. They just needed to leave him in his own bed and not the ignominy of a cell. He started to struggle, although his attempts were feeble.

“Your letter, John –” Claire started to explain their reasons for arranging immediate transport to England.

“I did not ask you to come here!” John weakly tried to bat away Jamie’s arms as the Scotsman wrapped a hand around his arm to haul him upright.

“Aye – ye did, whether ye thought so or no’. Did ye no’ think we cared?” Jamie was glad that John was arguing with him. He prayed that it meant all was not lost. “Ye may not have done so on purpose, but we are here now – thank God.”

John manged to summon up enough energy to pull away from their combined grasp long enough to collapse back onto his bed. However, he was unable to lie down again because Jamie had the foresight to leap onto the bed and intercept him. He found himself firmly in Jamie Fraser’s grasp, held close enough to his chest that he could feel the man’s heart thumping fast behind him.

He could feel the solid warmth of Jamie at his back and it felt good. A tear slipped down his cheek.

_Dear God, it feels like home. One last illusion of belonging._

Jamie and Claire shared a glance over the head of their dearest of friends. John’s letter had been a farewell – detailing what to do after his death. It had confused them both until they had reached the final page, the sign off at the end – the writing more spidery than John’s usual neat script. He had been saying goodbye, despite his health having been perfect the last time he had seen them. There had been no mention of illness and William had confirmed that his papa had been healthy, if rather withdrawn from society, when he had last seen him. 

“John – please?” begged Jamie, distraught at the sight of John pushing them away. “Mo leannan, please let us help ye. Stay with me, with us. Mas e do thoil e?”

“Why? Just let me sleep. I cannot think of a single reason why I should wake again.” John let his head fall back onto one of Jamie’s shoulders, finding comfort there that the softest of goose down pillows had denied him. “I am nothing to anyone.”

“How could you think that?” demanded Claire, her physician’s demeanour slipping as she saw her patient not willing to fight for his life. “Oh John, sweetheart, you mean the world to us – “

“What do we do, Claire?” asked Jamie, desperate for guidance.

Claire was frantic as she knelt on the bed, leaning over John to listen to his breaths, counting them to see how much he had been affected by the dose he had taken.

“Let me think. Damn it, if he was in a hospital, I would give him oxygen and secure his airway.” Claire frantically thought of the procedures for overdoses of opiates and tried to think of something that she could apply to the situation and time that they were in. “But here, now, there’s nothing apart from maybe a gastric lavage. It might not be too late!”

“What’s that?” Jamie screwed up his face, confused, but desperate to know of something they could do to save John.

“Go to the dining room or kitchens, whichever you find first and fetch some salt and a glass of water. Hurry!”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Pinching John’s nose had him open his mouth and allowed Claire to pour the salty solution down his throat as Jamie held him upright. A basin held out was needed as he began to heave violently, bringing up the contents of his stomach. Claire spotted specks of blood amongst the bile suggesting this had not been the first occasion he had taken more laudanum than was safe. 

After cleaning up John, dressing him in a clean night shirt and getting him propped up on his pillows in case he should vomit again, Claire gave him a stern look.

“Why? Why did you do that, John?”

Now that her patient was out of imminent danger, Claire’s anger came to the fore. Anger that she was nearly too late and anger at what it would have done to Jamie had he found John already dead. It would have devastated him. She knew she was being unkind and that her harsh words would come back to haunt her later, but she needed to know what had pushed John over the edge.

“What happened that made you to think this was the only option?” Claire asked again, this time holding John’s hands in hers and squeezing them tight.

“Percy,” muttered John, the name coming to his lips without thinking. Looking from Claire to Jamie and back, he decided that they deserved to know his reasons. He owed them that and so much more.

“That damn troublemaking wee pervert – what has he done now?” demanded Jamie, automatically assuming the man had made threats to John. “Just tell me where he is and –“

“No need. You’ll be pleased to know he won’t be making any more trouble for anyone,” murmured John, his eyes closing. “Not now.”

“Aye? Isn’t that good news?” Jamie asked, confused. He looked at Claire to see if she was equally at a loss to understand John’s logic, or lack of it.

“He’s dead,” came John’s grim-faced response.

“What happened?” asked Claire, stilling Jamie with a hand to his arm. She could tell that he was not reading the situation well and would be likely to say the wrong thing.

“He made the fatal error of returning to England,” explained John. “I think he was following me.”

“Did ye kill him?” blurted out Jamie. He would not have blamed John if he had, the man had been nothing but a pest as far as he was concerned.

“Not directly,” sighed John, his eyes opening as he tried to explain why he was to blame. “Not by my sword, but by my word.”

“John, love, you’re not making any sense.” Claire held one hand to John’s brow, checking his temperature, wondering if he was feverish. Surreptitiously, she slid her hand to the side of his throat to feel his pulse and was relieved that it was steadier than it had been when they had first arrived and slightly stronger.

“He was hanged. Three weeks and three… no… not three… four… four days ago.”

“Dia ghràdhaich! Oh, Christ!” Jamie suddenly realised what John was referring to. “He was arrested, wasn’t he?”

“Yes – he was,” answered John, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “He still faced the charges brought against him all those years ago. Charges that still bore my name as arresting officer. Naturally, I was called to bear witness against him.”

“What for?” asked Claire, confused and needing answers.

“He was arrested for sodomy.” Jamie spoke up, trying to spare John from the details. “It was John that caught him in the act-”

“You reported him?” exclaimed Claire, appalled. “John – how could you?”

“I was with two other officers at the time. He was in my quarters, in my bed, with a German soldier. My rank decreed that I should be the one to make the arrest.” John paused as memories of that day came back to haunt him – no less vivid than they had been the same day. “I later arranged for his escape from the prison he was being held in, but he never forgave me my role in his disgrace.”

“It wasna yer fault he was stupid enough to get caught buggering another man in an unlocked room in broad daylight! John – ye are no’ to blame!” Jamie felt annoyed that Percy bloody Wainwright was still causing John such anguish, even after all these years.

“But it was _my_ word, at the court martial, that sentenced _him_ to death!” protested John, his raised voice hoarse from the effects of the emetic.

Taking a deep breath, Jamie reassessed his previous assumptions. He could only imagine what it had cost John to provide the damning statement that had condemned his stepbrother, and erstwhile lover, to death.

“Is that why you sent William away?” asked Claire, as the pieces began to fall into place. “Is that why you encouraged him to come and stay with us?”

“Yes, partly,” admitted John. “I wanted to spare him being tainted by any repercussions.”

“He doesna ken that’s the reason, does he?” asked Jamie, knowing the answer. He also knew that William loved his papa and would never have left him if he had known what was truly on his mind.

“No and I would beg you never to make him aware of this. For his sake, not mine,” pleaded John. “He was never happy here. There is nothing here for him.”

“John, that’s not true,” stated Claire, reaching out to cup John’s face and press a kiss to his cheek. “That’s from William. He asked for me to give you a kiss from him when we saw you.”

Claire saw the tears welling up in John’s eyes, he was genuinely taken aback – even more so when she kissed his other cheek, and told him that one was from Brianna.

“But-“

“You are loved, John,” explained Claire. “You did not need to send William away.”

“I had my reasons. Hal warned me that Percy’s legal team were planning to argue that my statement was invalid.” John paused and looked down before continuing. “On account of my own relationships with men. His counsel had already spread rumours that I fabricated the charges against Percy because he would no longer submit to my advances. They were claiming that I had been abusing my position with other men as well. You see, Jamie, those accusations made by Twelvetrees still make the rounds in London. After all these years…”

“Ye fear they will arrest ye on similar charges?” spluttered Jamie, appalled at the idea. John was the most honourable of men he had ever met, and the thought of his dear friend being abused by the mob at Tyburn gallows and hanged sickened him.

“Who is Twelvetrees?” asked Claire, bewildered, yet detecting that Jamie knew exactly who John was referring to.

“Edward Twelvetrees accused John of sodomy and murder, so he challenged him to a duel.” Jamie caught John’s eye letting him know that he still owed him his life for preventing the duel he had accepted for calling the man a traitor. “John killed him. The man’s brother, Reginald, has cause to want John dead.”

“And you think he will pursue this, John?” Claire turned her attention back to John, wondering why he seemed to be accepting his fate and not fighting back.

“I know they are, my dear,” replied John, his voice soft and barely audible. “There is bad blood between our families, and I am an easier target than my brother.”

“But there’s no evidence!” protested Jamie. “I ken ye’ve always been verra discrete.”

“Come now, my friend,” said John, reaching out to Jamie. “You know as well as I that witnesses can be bought for a bargain in the vicinity of the courts of law.”

“But they have not come after you? Have they?” asked Claire, worried for John’s safety. If he was under the threat of exposure and consequent life imprisonment or hanging, it made his apparent desire to end his life more understandable, but no less tragic.

“Not yet. But it is of no consequence.” John shrugged, even though he could see that his attitude was troubling the Frasers. “Please do not concern yourselves with the matter. It is my problem to face, not yours.”

“But what of William?” pressed Claire, desperate to give John a reason not to give up. “Where would it leave him?”

“My dear Mrs Fraser, you will be aware that I have taken good care of that. You will have seen the documents.” John frowned and looked at Jamie, who was giving him a very peculiar look. “On my death, you and Jamie will become the legal guardians of William. Certainly not my older brother. William will therefore be protected from any outcome from his association with me- ”

“Association?” exclaimed Jamie, outraged. “Fer Christ’s sake, John! Ye’re the boy’s papa, surely ye ken that?”

“Not by blood! As you and Lord Dunsany gave him to me, to raise, I return him to you as his true father, to guide into adulthood.” John paused to swallow back a sob that threatened to break free from his chest. Shrugging in Jamie’s arms, he whispered: “He was only ever on loan to me.”

Turning his head into the pillow, John could no longer hold back the tears that ran down his face. He was beyond despair.

“Please leave me awhile,” pleaded John. “I cannot bear for either of you to see me like this.”

Patting his arm, Claire leaned across to take the laudanum bottle from the nightstand while wondering if there were more secreted about the room.

“I shall only leave this room if you swear not to harm yourself in our absence,” demanded Claire, squeezing John’s hand.

“For the duration of your visit, my dear.” John nodded his head solemnly. “I shall keep that promise.”

Jamie reluctantly moved to one side and helped settle John onto the pillows. He took hold of Claire’s hand as they left the room, neither of them wanting to leave John’s side, but both respecting his request.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Whilst Jamie and Claire had been with John, the servants had returned to the house and been surprised to find a pile of bags sitting in the hallway.

Fortunately, there were no servants left that knew Jamie when he had been a groom, so the atmosphere was not as difficult as it could have been. Once they introduced themselves as friends of both John and master William, the butler was most accommodating. He instructed the housemaids to make up a room for them and had the cook prepare a light supper for them, which they requested be brought to their room on a tray.

“I can’t bear to see him like this,” confessed Jamie, pushing aside the plate of food, barely touched. He sighed and reached out for Claire’s hand. “He’s so broken and alone. Can we no’ take him back with us?”

“However tempting that it, we cannot. Not against his will,” replied Claire. “Even if we could persuade him, he may not survive the sea voyage in his current condition.”

“I’ll no’ leave him like this,” declared Jamie. “No’ knowing if we’ll ever see him again. What can we do?”

“We need to give him reasons to live – prove to him that he deserves love,” suggested Claire. “That’s all we can do. Otherwise, the moment he is out of our sight-”

“Dinna say it, lass. It would break my heart.” With the final admission came tears to Jamie’s eyes.

“You love him.” Claire stated rather than asked, although she had always known.

“Aye. I do. I think ye love him as well – ye were his wife once, after all.”

“Yes, even if he hadn’t married me to keep me from harm, I would have loved him.” Claire smiled as she recalled a conversation with their daughter. “Do you remember how Brianna described him? She said he was a very difficult man not to like.“

“And a bloody difficult one to love,” grumbled Jamie, frustrated that now he was finally capable of acknowledging his feelings for John Grey, the man had shut himself off from that love he had desired for so long. “Especially seeing as he doesna think he deserves it.”

“We need to get him away from here. This damn house is a mausoleum to a dead family, I’m no’ surprised William didn’t like coming back here.” Jamie huffed, as it came to him that Helwater was home to neither John nor William. “It will no’ take John to his grave as well – I’ll no’ let it.”

“Then we have to take him away from here.” Claire nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with Jamie’s assessment. The house was cold, both literally and figuratively. To leave John there was unthinkable. 

“Aye – he’s coming with us.”

“To Lallybroch?” asked Claire, seeking clarification, although the thought had occurred to her as well.

“Aye, Lallybroch,” replied Jamie. “I’ve never known a soul stay there and no’ feel the life quicken within their hearts.”

“Yes, within a day or two, I think he could be ready to travel by carriage.” In her mind, Claire was already making plans for getting John fit enough for the journey to Scotland.

“Aye, that shall give me time to write to Jenny, to let her know to expect one more guest.” Jamie was also planning – and he knew that if Jenny was to complain about a lack of room, that they would have John sleep with them. He was not going to let him out of his sight for a while. “We ken the Ridge is in safe hands with William and Young Ian, Fergus, too. I shall write and let them know our visit to Scotland may be a mite longer than we intended. Maybe tell them that John is unwell … they will understand.”

“Good – that’s agreed then.”

“Aye,” nodded Jamie, smiling to himself. It had suddenly occurred to him that taking John to Lallybroch fulfilled a desire he was only just realising had always been there. “It’s long overdue that I showed him Broch Tuarach.”

“Who’s going to tell him?” asked Claire, picking up on the way Jamie’s mood had changed and understanding why. She had always decided to leave it to Jamie to come to terms with his feelings for John, but the stubborn damn man had not been able to grasp the truth that loving John did not in any way diminish his love for her. In the same way that her affection for John never detracted from her love for Jamie.

“I shall,” stated Jamie, with the clear implication that he was not going to take no for an answer.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Deciding to go into see him on his own, Jamie was not surprised to find John still in his bed, his eyes closed and his face in pain. Closing the door behind him, Jamie braced himself against it, waiting for John to acknowledge his presence, to give him time to compose himself.

“Please accept my abject apologies, Jamie. I am sorry that you and Claire should find me-“

“Would ye rather we found ye dead?” interrupted Jamie, bluntly stating his own fears. “D’ye ken what that wouldha done to me? To Claire?”

“I never expected you to come here at all – ” stated John, shaking his head. It had only been the return of Jamie to his bedroom that convinced him that he had not imagined the night’s events.

“Weel it’s just as well we did then.” Jamie made an inarticulate sound of disgust in his throat and then dragged a chair across to sit next to the bed. “Dear God, if we’d ha been a day later, or if ye’d tried to kill yerself a day earlier –“

John burst out laughing – bitter laughter, interspersed with sobs.

“The irony, my dear friend, is that I wasn’t trying to end my life. I just didn’t care if it did kill me. I take a few drops every evening. I just need a little more each week.” John shrugged as he considered his ritual every evening since the news had arrived of Percy’s hanging. “I would have probably woken up in the morning with a sickness of the stomach and an aching head. No worse than a morning after an excess of spirits.”

“But what if ye hadn’t?” Jamie took hold of John’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Christ, John, what about William? How d’ye think he’d ha’ taken the news?”

“I bear enough guilt already, do you think any more will crush me any further?” sighed John. “William is no longer a boy. He is a young man in his own right. After our return here we argued constantly – he would have grown to hate me if he had stayed much longer.”

“No! Not William! Fer Christ’s sake, John, he loves you. He always will.” Jamie was shocked that John would believe he was on the path to losing William’s love. “Surely you ken that?”

“What I know is that he resented being here. He loathed being told what his duties were to the tenants, the staff. He wanted nothing more than to go to London, where he could stay at his uncle’s house and visit the whorehouses and taverns. Sending him back to you was the best thing I could do for him.”

Jamie shook his head, finding it hard to accept that William would behave in such a way to his beloved stepfather. The fact that John believed it to be true however, would explain partly why he was in such a dreadful state of mind. He decided to change tack.

“Ye told me once about yer father – when ye thought he’d taken his own life and ye were sent away. How could ye do the same to yer own son?”

“I was only twelve, William is full grown,” argued John. “And, surely it does not need saying again, William is not my son.”

Jamie leapt to his feet and leaned over the bed to grab hold of John. He hauled him up out of the bed until they were face to face and then shook him hard.

“He is your damn son, just as much as he is mine!” shouted Jamie, infuriated that John could not see the truth of the matter. “And I’ll no’ stand by while ye take yer leave o’ all our lives!”

“What does it matter?” demanded John, taking hold of Jamie’s hands that were digging into his biceps, only to find them trembling as much as he was. “I’m nothing but a burden to you all! You can all get along perfectly well without my presence – a constant source of disappointment. I failed my father, my wife and now my wretched stepbrother – all of whom deserved to live more than I!”

Jamie felt rage pulse in his veins and a desperation to show John that he did deserve happiness and life. Letting go of John’s arms, he roughly took hold of John’s face and kissed him on the mouth, ignoring the faint taste of brandy and salt, the bitterness of the opium. John pressed his lips closer together, but Jamie was insistent and before long their teeth were clashing as lips were bitten and blood drawn.

Pulling away from John, Jamie was aware of his own tears flowing freely down his cheeks, he could taste them on his lips.

“I love you, John,” declared Jamie. “I always have but have never told ye so, no’ in words. That is my fault – no’ yours. Ye have a place in my heart and in Claire’s. Ye’re part of our family and we want ye in our lives.”

“He’s telling the truth, John, please listen to him.”

John looked up, bewildered, he had not heard Claire enter the room. He was concerned at her reaction to walking in on the kiss he had just shared with Jamie. However, as Claire took her place at her husband’s side, her eyes held nothing but kindness and affection. If it were not for the stinging of salty tears as they touched the cut on his lip, he might have thought it one more hopeful dream.

“Come with us, John,” begged Jamie, his hand around the back of John’s neck, keeping him close. “To Scotland. To my home. To Lallybroch.”

“Why?” asked John, confused.

“To heal,” added Claire, wrapping an arm around each man’s waist, embracing them both. “To be loved.”

“Loved?” John found himself beginning to feel hope for the first time in many long months. He looked from Claire back to Jamie, whose eyes had not left his face.

“Aye, to Lallybroch,” Jamie smiled in encouragement. “To be loved. To be wi’ us, where ye belong.”

_@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@~~@_


End file.
